


accusations in plum

by relevant_elephant



Category: Alice (2009)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relevant_elephant/pseuds/relevant_elephant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hatter has a conversation with a coat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	accusations in plum

**Author's Note:**

> not mine, damn it all. SyFy's, nick willig's, and lewis carroll's. don't know what the hell this is. probably doesn't make a lick of sense. my first in this fandom and my first trying for slight nutteroscity. written nearly 3.5 years ago.

The plum coat sits there accusingly, Alice’s imprint indelibly scarred into its velvet and satin lining. It was flat of course, in reality, it was the way of things but in Hatter’s mind it conformed to a set of invisible limbs, flared about not-there-hips, released a scent of jasmine and vanilla.

It taunted him, and really it was worse than the so-called torture of the Tweedles. They didn’t know how to do it, not really and not at all. The key to torture wasn’t physical and, as Alice proved, it wasn’t mental. Either of those types will get the victim to say anythinganything to stop the pain, if they break at all; Alice merely lied, his strong little teapot.

No, the plum velvet coat said, no, the key to torture is emotional. Twist the heart until it rends, wrinkle it to distortion, pound it down into talcum powder and then snort it up.

Hatter was fairly certain the coat was laughing at him, but then again, he and that outerwear had never been on the best of terms, so it was no surprise. It’s why he allowed Alice to wear it; after all, the coat liked her – just as I do. 

Slow the beats to the tiniest pound, flopping like waterless fish, grasping for its waning life, dash it upon the rocks into a thousand trillion pieces, leave it, leave it, give it hope, she gave it hope then left it, didn’t she Hatter my dear boy?

“Shut up!” Hatter spun his chair away, away from the hateful coat. He loathed the silken tenor of the coat’s voice, saying things it can’t know about. Alice would never do such hurtful things, not on purpose. He swung the overly bright, overly white chair back in the attire’s direction.

“Alice isn’t like that! You should know, having been with her the entire time, so just shut it!”

Glaring silence, like the glaring brightly whitey whiteness was his only answer. Hatter snorted an ‘of course!’ After all, velvet overcoats were notorious for their snobbishness. He didn’t know why he’d acquired it in the first place.

The coat was laughing at him, but it was no surprise. It always laughed at him. It always had and always would. It was only ever respectfully quiet when in Alice’s possession.

If she didn’t lead you on… then what did she do? There was interest breeding in her breast, you know, that or she was toying with you. Or was it the other way around? You toying with her, making little kissy-kiss faces only to punk out when Jacky the Heart arrived. A little dalliance, a remembrance for a time before the next one comes along.

Hatter gritted his teeth and scrunched his eyes tightly shut, hands pushing his ears so tightly into his head, but he could still hear the echo. That ugly, silken echo. He felt like he was ten again and the other children were teasing him, calling him names.

Everything was his fault, always, all the time. The Hatter family, mad the lot of them, nary a sane cell in any of their bodies. Can’t tell what the right thing is to do because their minds weren’t right, not even for the standards of Wonderland. Didn’t matter for a Hatter, who was saner than the lot – just evidence your wronger than them all!

“And lots of other things.” Soft, delicate with a quiet strength; vulnerable, warbling, warbling, warblingwarblingwarbling – SAD!

Hatter’s head jerked up in comprehension. Voices only warbled when the owner was sad. Or in fear, chimed the demon coat, “Shut up!”

Contrariwise, if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic.

Hatter growled at himself, hands running through his mindless hair, gripping and yanking hard. The coat sprouting the most fundamental logic of Wonderland to him as it ran through his mind days after the realization should have-

Took you long enough, you bloated innards of a diseased borogrove!

"Shut UP!” Hatter surged from his seat and glared menacingly at the velvet. He pointed viciously at the thing and continued in a growl, “And if you think you’re coming with me, you’ve got another think coming!”

He stormed to his closet and grabbed his Endless Bag, then, like a riptide, swirled through the room until he had what he had all in his bag, and he had what he ain’t not there. Like the coat – it was never his to begin with and, ignoring it’s plaintive cries, Hatter strode purposely out of the tea shop with a promise in his mind to buy his Alice a coat in a nicer temperament.

It didn’t matter if the thing helped him realize that if Jack was going to be in the picture, he’d have been dressed in his finery and posing by now.


End file.
